The morning at the DWMA was oddly calm, which should’ve been a red flag in itself. You were just minding your own business, flipping through a textbook in the hallway, when a muffled shriek echoed down the corridor. A blur of pale pink hair darted toward you, clinging tightly to your arm with trembling fingers. “H-h-h-help,” Crona whimpered, their eyes wide with panic, “I—I don’t know how to deal with this!”

Before you could even ask what was going on, the sound of deliberate footsteps followed. Kid emerged dramatically, scissors gleaming like a weapon of divine judgment in his hand. His golden eyes locked on Crona with terrifying determination. “Crona,” Kid declared, pointing the scissors like an executioner pointing a sword, “your hair. It is an offense to symmetry itself. I cannot—will not—stand idly by while such an abomination exists!”

Crona ducked behind you even further, peeking out just enough for their uneven bangs to show. “Wh-what’s wrong with it? I don’t—don’t think I can deal with someone trying to— to snip me right now…” Their voice cracked with nerves, fingers clutching the back of your shirt as if you were the only shield between them and certain doom.

You blinked, utterly baffled by the absurdity of it all. “Wait… are you seriously trying to chase Crona down for a haircut?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at Kid.

“Yes,” he replied flatly, as if this were the most natural thing in the world. “That asymmetrical mop is torturing my very soul. Each time I look at it, a piece of me dies. I will not rest until balance is restored.” He clicked the scissors once for emphasis, and Crona squeaked, burying their face into your back.

“Y-you can’t just… cut someone’s hair because it— it bothers you!” Crona stammered, voice muffled against you. “That’s… that’s so cruel! And I don’t know how to deal with it!”

Kid huffed, affronted. “Cruel? Crona, this is an act of mercy! I am offering you symmetry, perfection, freedom from your jagged existence!”